Why would I ever make my bed when it’s just going to get messed up again? That’s the whole argument. NOBODY IS HOME DURING THE DAY. I’d be doing a chore for an empty room. If I had a cat, I might make the bed for them. There is no valid counterpoint. But since we’re trying to have a discussion here, some context:

I wake up 10-20 minutes before I leave the house. I eat a yogurt cup, assess the weather, get dressed and leave. Every second counts. When I come home, usually the first thing I do is collapse into my bed, the blankets an inviting, open armed hug. Why would I want another step — pulling apart the bedding I spent time precisely tucking — between me and that comfortable nest?

I’m not a monster. If I’m a guest somewhere, I will make the bed. And I respect your personal choice to make the bed. Tuck if you tuck. I just don’t live a bed making lifestyle.

When I moved to New York I slept on a pile of clothes, beneath a sleeping bag with a broken zipper. Then I got a hand-me-down IKEA mattress, the cheapest one they make. It was 4 inches thick and a fitted sheet hung loose around it like a too-big shirt. Then I bought my roommate’s pretty good memory foam mattress, another hand-me-down, but passable. That’s where I sleep now. I am comfortable and warm at night. Few humans are so lucky.

Look, I’m not opposed to a made bed. I enjoy getting into a pristinely made hotel bed. When I can afford to have someone make my bed, sure, I’ll have them make my bed. But I’ve never seen how making the bed would improve my life, and I can think of 600 things more immediately pressing than the state of my blankets and sheets. Brah, I’ve got bigger problems than an unmade bed.

I did not grow up a bed maker; I was a messy, forgetful kid, always running out the door and leaving piles of my possessions around my room like a series of weird nests. Now that I am (sort of) an adult, I am less messy and less forgetful, mostly thanks to the invention of Clorox wipes and GCal, but also because I've found that keeping my home in order makes me feel like I have some control over the rest of my life.

And making your bed is the first and best way to accomplish just that. Even if you have a horrible morning meeting to attend or a throbbing hangover (or both!), you can manage to wrestle your quilt or duvet or college-dorm-style sweatshirt blanket into a passably smooth rectangle. It takes under 30 seconds, give or take a throw pillow, and boom, you've already completed a task. Who knows what other peaks you'll summit with this kind of momentum! (I will also say: ditching the top sheet has made my bed-making experience lifetimes more pleasant and efficient.)

A made bed makes your room look instantly put together (bonus points if you have company) and makes it that much more difficult (physically and psychically) to crawl back under the covers and avoid the world. And at the end of the day, there's no better feeling than sliding down inside layers of clean, neatly tucked fabric. It's a tiny gift your past self can give to Future You 12 hours later.

My 8-year-old self would definitely scoff at how happy a made bed makes me now, but I think she would at least understand the importance of building a nest for yourself, and caring for it the way you see fit.